


We're not the world (we will fight)

by hugemind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e22 Lucifer Rising, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-07
Updated: 2009-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugemind/pseuds/hugemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "The aftermath of 4x22 leaves Sam weak and feverish. Dean's there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're not the world (we will fight)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the post-season four schmoop-fic meme](http://thehighwaywoman.livejournal.com/135416.html). Originally posted to LJ on June 7, 2009.

 

A brilliant shaft of light spills up from the floor. That's the last clear image Sam registers. After that it's Dean's hands steadying him, yanking him out of the convent while Sam stumbles along, weak and cold-hot. It's not just Sam's demon powers that he spent on Lucifer, it's all of himself; his own strength from his flesh and blood, the blood that's the same as in Dean's veins, all given just so he could get _here_. He shudders, can't get away fast enough and Dean's a force that keeps moving him, putting distance between them and Sam's monumental fuck-up. _all my fault, Lucifer rising the world will burn and oh God I did it, should be dead_

Sounds blend into white noise, his vision edging into black, and Sam's too weak to shake Dean's hands off, to tell him that he shouldn't be there. _I'm a monster, blood-sucking freak you said so and why're you here, am I gonna be next, please Dean you should be the one to do it, I want you to do it please_ He feels Dean's palm between his shoulder blades, guiding him to fold his body into a car, cupping his head, patting his shoulder gently, like it's a part of a dream, not the horrifying reality. He leans into the touch as long as Dean allows _this is the last time, I promise I'll go but can I have this just this once_ ; after, his body tries to chase the warmth but crashes against the door.

The last thing he hears is tires squealing sharply, and then in his dream Dean is repeating, "Sammy, you're gonna be okay. Just hang in there and it'll be okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

The glass against his forehead is ice-cold _fucking icy fingers touching everywhere so fucking cold_ , but he has no energy to move. He shivers, maybe his teeth are chattering, but he's already checked out.

*

Shakes wrack Sam's body, clearly visible even under the blankets and Dean's jacket that he wrapped around Sam two hundred miles ago. Sam's forehead is fever-hot, the lines of his body tense, muscles locked in place.

They've been on the run for six hours and that's on top of the days neither of them's gotten a good slice of sleep. Ruby's car is no match for the Impala; no room, no power and no music, just a lifeless hunk of metal, and Dean could kill her all over again for choosing such a crappy set of wheels.

Dean gets a room in the next motel he spots, doesn't care about anything but getting Sam inside, away from the chilly night. He carries Sam in, dead weight across his shoulders and Dean's back twinges more than once, but he manages to set Sam down on the bed.

The blankets aren't helping, Sam's still shaking, and Dean can't just sit here alone, watch it happen, not after everything. He climbs on the bed, slides underneath the blankets and wraps himself around Sam. The shakes go away slowly, but the rigid tension stays. Dean thinks it's a sign that Sam's fighting, not giving up, and refuses to let himself worry about it. Falls asleep with his arms around Sam when dawn's breaking.

*

It's bright, so bright when Sam opens his eyes, and for a moment he thinks he's still staring at the first step of apocalypse. But he's lying down, pressed down and warm-hot under blankets, something solid against his side. Sam ignores the daylight from the window, doesn't panic over the unfamiliar room and stops when he sees Dean. He's asleep, the solid weight Sam's feeling, but there's a frown on his face, the corner of his mouth shaped unhappy.

Sam shifts, tries to turn around to face Dean, but notices Dean's arm across his chest, the palm fisting Sam's jacket tightly. _This_ , this Sam remembers happening before he blacked out; they were clinging to each other and somewhere Dean said that everything's going to be okay. His muscles are too sore and weak to obey when he attempts to run his hand through Dean's hair, curl his fingers around Dean's neck and so it falls on Dean's shoulder, palm against the bone. Sam slips his fingers under the collar of Dean's shirt, pulls Dean closer.

It won't last, the moment where Sam can just _look_ at his brother, wonder what he can say to make him stay, and sure enough, Dean's awake right after Sam stops edging himself closer to his brother. Sam blinks, all the possible ways to beg for forgiveness ready on the tip of his tongue. Dean stares at him, the frown gone, lips parted and eyes wide, and Sam can't get any of the words out.

Dean's arm around him tightens, Dean burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck, and Sam clutches harder, greedy, ready to cry, he'll take whatever Dean will allow him to have.

Dean breathes against Sam's ear. "God, Sammy, don't do that to me ever again."

Sam lets out a choked sound. No matter what part of it Dean means, Sam promises he won't.

_\--end--_


End file.
